nearly normal
by crimson and bare
Summary: The Dursleys do not need any more magic. That's what they always said. They evaded being at all associated with the word for years, but now Dudley's gone and made a mess of things by falling madly in love with a witch. Oneshot.


Dudley Dursley quite enjoys his coffee black.

When he was younger, he would always put sugar in up to the diabetes mark. His mother always kept the sugar in these fine glass bowls, with a nicely adorned crystal as the lid. He would take the lid and remove it, lift up the bowl and pour the entire thing into his mug—from the matching set his parents had for years. And he would stir it with a spoon—also from a matching set. And, then, he would drink what basically came down to sugar water pumped with caffeine.

And, today, on this morning, he is sitting on the train on his way to work. His suit is slightly ruffled, which is the number one thing he is concerned about. He never got the hang of ironing things, and his parents are on holiday by the Mediterranean. Yes, he is, in fact, nearly twenty-five years old and reliant on mummy to do his wash.

His mind is focused solely on his concern for his outfit when a pretty girl around his age sits beside him. He gives her a wave of acknowledgement and she grins at him, something oddly nervous about her smile. Her amber eyes flit around anxiously, like she is in some kind of strange contraption.

"First time?" He can't imagine someone having their _first time _on the train, but she nods.

"Well, I used to ride on my school train when I was younger," she begins and he mentally groans. She's hot, but he can't stand stories from strangers. It's just unusual. "But it was certainly different. There are so many odd people here."

"I'm very usual, I assure you," he says and she begins beaming.

"That's lovely. I'm glad," she says lightly, sticking out her hand. He takes it without hesitation and gives her a good, firm handshake. "I'm Lavender Brown."

"Dudley Dursley." He attempts a smile. "Nice to meet you."

"Absolutely charmed," she says and Dudley realizes he is slowly becoming infatuated with the girl he just met on a train. _Beware of strangers, Dudders_, he hears in his head, his mother's voice admonishing him. But she seems to a beautiful, normal girl.

"Do you live around here?" he wonders aloud, playing it casually.

"I just moved in. I was living in Ireland for a few years," she says, her smile faltering slightly.

"I've been here my whole life. London is very beautiful," Dudley says casually, leaning back in his chair. It doesn't groan under his weight as it had previously—he's lost several stones in the past decade or so.

"Oh, it certainly is." There's something starry about her. He likes it. "What do you do?"

"I'm an accountant," he says, very proud of himself. It took hard work and determination, as well as a few strings pulled by his father. As well as the age old Dursley conception—that looks are, indeed, _everything_

"Oh, wonderful," she comments cheerily, captivated by his every word. He must admit he likes the attention. "I'm waitressing at a mu-muddle of a restaurant."

She blushes. It's a gorgeous pink against pallid skin. Her delicate features are reminiscent of her name, _Lavender_. His mother often used cleaning supplies scented lavender, and it gives her a nice, cleanly appeal.

"Well, I would like to stop in for lunch sometime," he says earnestly and she grins.

"Oh, I'd love that, Dudley," she says as the train lurches.

He stands to get off as she waves feverishly.

"I'll see you soon!"

* * *

Dudley saunters into the _Midnight Lamp_, a little cafe not far from his work. When he enters, the people around are not exactly _his style_. They look unemployed and odd, and it disturbs him deeply. He feels unsettled by their presence and is prepared to leave when he hears a high pitched squeal.

He turns to see Lavender, and feels himself blushing slightly. Dudley Dursley never thought he would blush at the sight of a girl. He barely knows her and can tell she's just perfect. She scampers over to him and hugs him.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she says as she breaks away, looking him up and down. "I'm a hugger."

"I'm not," he replies, laughing slightly. She giggles along with him.

"I'm almost on my break, you know?" she says abruptly, taking off and folding her pink apron. "You could show me some of London's greatest sights."

"I'd love to."

* * *

"Bubbles!" Lavender exclaims excitedly, prancing over to the vendor. He smiles.

It's their second date. She reminds him a bit of the puppy his mother bought him when he was younger. He cried and cried for that puppy, and when he got it he was very glad. It was excitable, lacking in an attention span, adorable, caring and completely normal.

She buys a wand and bottle from the man and hands it to him. Her smile is broadening.

"Did you ever blow bubbles as a child, Dudley?" she inquires and he shrugs.

"Perhaps once or twice," he says and she nudges him.

"Go on," she says brightly, uncapping the lid.

He plays along, and decides he quite likes blowing bubbles.

* * *

Dudley shows up at the _Midnight Lamp _right on time, as usual. But when he walks in, Lavender isn't there. Frowning slightly, he walks up to the cafe manager, his Vernon Dursley face on. If someone isn't commanded by that, they're commanded by nothing.

"Where's Lavender?" he inquires and the manager stares at him for a moment.

"Called in sick," he finally says and returns to scrubbing the counter.

Dudley is concerned. He doesn't think he has ever been this concerned for someone's health before. Walking out of the cafe, he makes his way to Lavender's apartment. He had dropped her off at the door several times before, often sharing a kiss. He opens the door, walks up the stairs and raps on her apartment door.

"Coming!" he hears her call, her voice not at all burdened by illness.

She opens the door grinning and her expression suddenly falls. He can't figure out why until he sees what's in her hand, and sees her apartment cleaning _itself_ behind her. He feels sick. Very, very sick.

"Oh, um, this is my—"

"Wand. Your wand," he interrupts, barely able to force the words out. Lavender looks startled. "From that blasted shop in that secret alleyway."

For once, Lavender is utterly speechless.

The Dursleys do not need any more magic. That's what they always said. They evaded being at all associated with the word for years, and now Dudley's gone and made a mess of things by falling in love with a witch. Why him? Why is it always _him_?

"And I'm assuming you went to that wizard school out in the country," he says gravely as she looks more and more flustered and shocked.

"Duddy, how did you _know_?" Her already wide eyes are bulging.

"I think we should talk." Every instinct is telling him to run, but his heart is telling him to stay.

* * *

Lavender is dumbstruck when he finishes talking.

"Harry Potter?" she mumbles, shaking her head slowly. "Duddy, I need some water."

She stands and exits the room, leaving him alone. He plays with the strands of fabric that came loose from her sofa. He can't believe it as much as she can. To think of the ratio of perfectly normal people to wizards and witches, and that he ended up in a relationship with one of the freaks. But Lavender isn't a freak. She's one of the most normal people he knows. But _she's a witch._

His thoughts are conflicting incessantly in his head. Dudley has always hated thinking.

When she returns, her French-manicured fingers are wrapped around a glass of water. She's sipping from it quite feebly, looking very faint. He isn't sure which if them is more in the wrong, and usually Dudley prefers the opposite party being bad.

"Well," Lavender says softly, sitting down, "do you still like me?"

He doesn't hesitate before replying, "I love you, Lavender. I really do."

She hugs him so quickly he can't see a thing but hair.

"I love you too, Duddy!" she exclaims, collapsing into him.

* * *

Dudley has almost grown used to the thought of being in a relationship with a witch. He never once told her not to do magic in front of him, but she seems to avoid it at all costs. At least they can pretend to be normal people.

And then it happens—something truly, dreadfully awful.

"Duddy," Lavender says softly, snuggling up against him. "I received an invitation."

"To?" he asks, pausing the television.

"Harry's wedding. He's invited everyone basically ever. And I would very much like you to accompany me, if it wouldn't disturb you," she says quietly and he is struck speechless.

He swallows the lump in his throat. Sometimes Dudley misses Harry, but he certainly does not miss the magic that came with him. But for Lavender? Why not.

"Okay," he says, attempting a feeble grin.

* * *

Dudley is dressed in his nicest clothing when he meets Lavender. She's wearing some strange get-up—like _robes _or something. She looks out of an obscure period piece. Dudley never liked those television shows, and he watches everything on the telly. But perhaps it's just her.

"Good evening," he says chivalrously, bowing to her. She giggles and blushes.

She's easy to please—but not in a promiscuous sort of way. It just doesn't take much to prompt her smile. Lavender Brown is very different than how Dudley always imagined witches and wizards. But, he supposes she's about to throw him into a pit of the gnarled, twisted, frightening people Dudley grew up thinking about.

She gestures at her fireplace and he stares at her dumbly for a moment. Then, he can quite recall the unusual and quite damaging day when that Weasel family went to go pick up his cousin. He doesn't like to admit the whole candy incident.

"You can't expect me to... go in there..." Dudley says slowly and she falters.

"It's better than apparation," Lavender says softly.

"Appa-what?" His confused voice matches his bewildered expression.

"Never mind, love." And she seizes his arm and drags him into a _fireplace _of all things.

* * *

Harry's shocked expression was priceless in a terrifying way. He didn't seem to be listening when Lavender was explaining, while he simply stood there, gawking at him. His ginger friend was snickering, his arm around a girl with her lips pursed together.

"So..." Dudley feels most uncomfortable. He does, in fact, regret making his cousin's life so miserable. "How's life?"

"You know, killed Voldemort, got hitched."

* * *

"Lavender," Dudley says calmly, as they walk down the street of Privet Drive, "I think we should tell my parents."

"What?" she asks, her dewy eyes confused.

"About... you know..." He never felt comfortable saying it out loud. Even Halloween decorations and common slang made things awkward between them.

"Oh, well, I suppose. Do you think they'll take it well?" Dudley laughs mirthlessly.

* * *

Vernon is speechless; Petunia almost faints. Lavender is sitting there, grinning like Barbie doll as Dudley shifts his weight awkwardly. His mother wraps her arms around him and guides him out of the room.

"Are you _serious_, Dudley?" she hisses as his father rises from his chair as well. "This girl is bad news."

"But she's _not." _He's never argued with his mother before. "She's so normal."

"Anyone who can wave a wand and make things fly out is not _normal," _Petunia insists, grow more and more concerned.

"Think of the children!" Vernon suggests, joining his wife and son.

"But I love her." And the conversation ends.

* * *

The day Lavender accepted a job at the Ministry of Magic is the day they move in together. They're living in a lovely flat in London, with a pretty view. That is, if you enjoy the looks of concrete jungles. Dudley had brought some nice French champagne, Lavender had some obscure brand made by _goblins_. Goblins? Dudley didn't think they existed.

As they sit at their little table, eating take-out Chinese with their crystal classes, they talk about this and that. Their conversation is gloriously air-headed. Dudley truly appreciates never having to think about anything too serious when he's with her.

"Do you think our children would be magical?" Lavender abruptly asks, breaking a brief silence.

Dudley's true answer would be, _I hope not_. But he simply mumbles, "It depends."

"I hope they are," Lavender says and he tries not to show his disappointment. She nearly frowns before suggesting, "Oh, wait! I hope we have one amazing, wonderful witch, and a sweet, usual squib like you."

"Squid?" he asks, perplexed.

"_Squib. _Non-magical," she explains.

"I thought that was muggles."

"Well, squib too."

"I need a bloody dictionary."

* * *

They marry on a sunny Saturday afternoon. The magic-folk of the party were instructed to be normal muggles—many of which struggled with the task greatly. Dudley can see his parents' discomfort, but his other guests don't mind much. So long as no one breaks that secrecy watchamacallit law, everything should be fine.

Dudley unwraps the paper with his vows on it when she finishes her poetic serenade of _I do._

"You're a very normal girl, Lavender. But, somehow, I think I've fallen under your spell."

_Fin._


End file.
